


Pretty Lies

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-08
Updated: 2006-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:40:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1642016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little Irgaine reflecting on Lancelot, Elaine and Guinevere thing, with attempts to be thoughtful and deep and all that jazz. Happy holidays!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I do monologues! I tried so hard to have, like, plot, and yet somehow managed not to. Go me! Oh well, hope you enjoyed anways! Happy holidays! :)
> 
> Written for Amai

 

 

Strangely enough, one of the best places to receive news of the world is in a convent. I would have laughed at that notion when I was queen, but between travelers and the pilgrims, we receive quite a deal of gossip here. Which is how I learned of the latest court drama; Sir Lancelot is to be married.

This, understandably, surprised me. I formed a very good impression of him the few times I met him at my son's court, and he did not strike me as the kind of man who could ever be happy if forced to settle down with a family, even if it was a family of his own choosing. Although, given some of the rumors flying around the country, it might be possible to believe it was not a fate he chose, exactly.

I have only met the Lady Elaine once, a demure, pretty girl with romantic dreams in her blue eyes and a clever enough mind to make those dreams come true, should she choose. What I saw of her makes it possible to believe the one facet of this jumbled story that remains consistent; somehow, while visiting her father, Sir Lancelot ended up in her bed, only to be discovered the next morning by the outraged household. Just how this came about is impossible to determine. Some say he was drunk and mistook her blonde curls and charming smile for that of Queen Guinevere. Others insist that Elaine drove a bargain with the sorceress Morgan Le Fey, my daughter. Another version is that Elaine drugged him, forcing him to agree to marry her the next morning. I really don't know which of these versions if true, and, in to be honest, I do not think it matters. Knowing exactly what happened will not change the outcome.

I do not pretend to be a wise woman, but I do not think any good can come of this. My first marriage was a loveless one, and I fear this one will be, too. Lancelot can never truly love her, and not just because of his feelings for the Queen, which are perhaps the most well known secret in the kingdom. He is a fighter, a man who will always place his knighthood and his service to the king above all else in his life. He would never give these up for the fairy tale romance Elaine will undoubtedly dream of. I think she can only come to resent or even hate him for that, with time.

As I said, I do not pretend to know everything. I prefer to think that I was simply blessed with a good deal of common sense. It served me well as Uther's queen, and was perhaps the reason he trusted and loved me as much as he did. He chose me for my beauty, originally, but came to love me for my advice. And though my red mane of hair now holds more than a few strands of gray, and lines frame my mossy eyes, my mind remains as sound as ever. That, more than beauty, is what makes a queen.

And that is something Guinevere understands very well. I know that no matter how much this wedding pains her, she will hid it behind sapphire eyes, will appear overjoyed for her champion and friend. She can do nothing less; to be a queen is to be on stage every moment of your life, and she has the intelligence to recognize that. My son chose his bride well, I think. So she will smile prettily and laugh with joy for Lancelot and his bride, even as it breaks her heart. And, of course, the whole court will know, but, with a good enough performance, will be unable to find proof of their suspicions.

To be a queen is to be an actress of the highest skill. Beauty is nothing more than confidence and the belief that you are beautiful to the point where the whole world believes it, too. Wisdom is just the ability to provide good advice at the right moment, and to know when to remain silent. Courtly manners are nothing more than pretty lies. And those lies and illusions are what make a queen, nothing more. I understood this, and so does Guinevere, but I do not believe Elaine does, and, for this reason, she will never be the queen of Lancelot's heart. To him she will never be anything but the pretty girl who tricked him and forced him into something he never wanted. This is something she will never understand. She will only see that the handsome knight who seemed something out of a maiden's romantic dreams and who she managed to convince herself would love her has suddenly become cold and distant. I know what she will do, because I am a woman, and it is what any of us would do; she will blame another for stealing his affections, convince herself it is anyone's fault but hers, tell herself that he would love her again if it were not for that wicked queen, Guinevere. And she will tell her friends, and they will tell their husbands and slowly rumors will grow and chip away at the reputations of the queen and her champion. Will it destroy them? Probably not directly. But it will be remembered, and help each new story and rumor that spreads about those two be believed until it destroys them, even if they never did anything more than exchange a loving glance now and again.

It seems so silly to me, now, looking in from the outside like a spectator listening to a storyteller. Silly misunderstandings and petty jealousies that threaten the peace of a kingdom for no reason at all. But I was not always an outsider with the ability to look in on these things and see them for what they are. I have spread my share of spiteful rumors and been caught up in scandals created by others and by my own actions. Hindsight is remarkably clear, but at the time it seemed the world hinged on such things.

Could I return to court, make a pretence at a visit, tell them before it's too late, try to change the course of things? Yes, I could. Will I? No. I gave up that life and I do not want it back, even if I thought they would truly hear and understand me. Instead, all I can do is watch this unhappiness unfold, and try to smile for the happy couple. I still remember how to do that. There are some things a queen never forgets.

 


End file.
